


They scream

by Writer207



Series: Implications [3]
Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Inspired by Music, One Shot, TGWDLM, don't even know where this came from, kinda tragic, not quite songfic though, still concious enough to have a little bit of control, the apotheosis is upon us
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-05 04:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18358418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer207/pseuds/Writer207
Summary: Emma has escaped; Paul finally has some alone time since he was infected. He struggles with being trapped somewhere between being himself and being a part of the hive.(but tears aren’t quiet things; they scream)





	They scream

**Author's Note:**

> This particular one-shot has been inspired by "Scream" by Sergey Lazarev. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ovhJHU8wnxU) You should really check it out, it's an amazing song.

Finally, Paul was alone.

But it did not mean nobody was watching…

These were the worst twenty-four hours of his life.

 

The spores were stuck in his mind. He was never going to be able to get rid of them. At least not in the foreseeable future. He heard the music, he knew the lines and choreography, and he felt inclined to act upon urges he never had before.

Yet, unlike the others, he still had his agency. The words and moves were there, in his mind; he needed only to choose to perform and it would sound amazing. Unlike the others, he could also choose to not sing or dance. Was this because he had destroyed the meteor before it could infect him to the point of no return? He did not know why; he just knew that he still had a choice.

It was freaky, being able to sing perfectly when he previously wouldn’t have been able to. Freaky, yes, but not the worst aspect of this semi-infected state. The worst part was not being able to break character to warn Emma.

The lyrics held the warnings. They told her exactly what she needed to do. But she panicked and ran away – Paul could not blame her, he probably would have done the same. He wanted to go after her, but stayed behind. If he had broken character, the infected around him would have made sure he never would want to leave again.

His connection to the hive mind was a blessing; he knew they had not found her. She was safe for now. That’s good, she made it out. At least someone made it out.

His connection to the hive mind was a curse as well. They knew everything he knew and vice versa. The shared information consisted mostly of memories, focusing heavily on the visual and auditory aspect. If he attempted to leave, they would know. They would follow him. They may kill him and let the spores do their job to ensure loyalty.

So as not to endanger her, Paul stayed behind in Clivesdale with his cover intact. Emma did not know he chose to sing; the infected did not know he was still his own individual person who did not like musicals.

He was alone.

And in this moment of peace and quiet, the events of the past twenty-four hours came crashing back to the foreground.

It all happened so quickly, he had not had the time to properly process the events that occurred since Charlotte and Sam tried to kill them. One action after the other; and another, and another, and no time to reflect on any single event.

All those horrible images; the songs they sang, the way their intestines hung out of their bodies or how the people – innocent people – had tried to kill him. So he could join them, and kill others. His heart raced and his hands were shaking. His mind was thrown every which way, reminding Paul of every little gruesome detail of this terrible journey. He started to feel nauseous and could throw up at any moment.

An unfamiliar tune started playing in his head, the lines he was supposed to sing accompanying the music. He did not sing along, but he did listen as to push the images and the screams out of his head.

 

_No, I can’t stay here longer_

_You cannot make me cry_

_So, I will leave you to wonder_

_What will become of our lives_

_I’ll swallow hard, fall apart_

_Break and bleed but you won’t see_

_Tears won’t fall_

_While pride stands tall_

_Maybe they can’t be heard or seen_

_But tears aren’t quiet things_

_They scream_

 

He could not speak of his experiences. He could not yell out his frustrations. He could not say anything; the hive mind would register it. Every odd word spoken was another reason they had to tear Paul to shreds and turn him while he was at his most vulnerable. Writing it down was not going to work either – he’d have to look at what he wrote down. That information would be shared as well.

The song… was not awful. However, his situation was. Maybe the lyrics did apply to him. And if he could not express his feelings without alerting the hive something was wrong with this drone, what else could he do but cry?

 

_Though my throat is on fire_

_My eyes will be liars_

_And they’ll try to stay drier_

_Until you turn away_

****

_Swallow hard, fall apart_

_Break and bleed but you won’t see_

****

_Tears will fall_

_I hear them all_

_They scream_

 

Paul ignored the end of that song and of every other song the spores may encourage him to sing in this situation, to put his emotions into a musical number. And he did something the spores could never prevent him from doing – he cried his heart out.


End file.
